You can't open a car with a coat hanger any more, Val.

Stand Up Guys

(2012)

Al Pacino’s aging con is released from prison after 28 years. Best pal Christopher Walken is there to meet him, charged with the task of greasing him. Fisher Stevens’ bittersweet dramedy is (mostly) amiable but inconsequential, dragged down by a charmless script. If the movie just about sustains interest, it’s by virtue its status as the (belated) first ever pairing of these former screen titans.

Now the likes of Arnie and Sly are regular joint-headliners, the prospect of movie legends finally trading quips and blows doesn’t quite hold the anticipation it once did. It took De Niro and Pacino the best part of 20 years before they shared a coffee in Michael Mann’s Heat. When they reteamed another decade later, no one could have given a shit (it doesn’t help that Righteous Kill isn’t all that). Often the problem encountered is one of making the material withstand the star power (sometimes it’s merely that the star power is no longer so starry). De Niro, Brando and Norton together sounded unmissable, but The Score is really only so-so. And most of that so-so is to do with seeing them together. So it is with Stand Up Guys.

If Christopher Walken is a bastion of reliability, often especially when the material isn’t up to snuff, the same can’t be said of Pacino. I’d much rather watch Al on autopilot than De Niro, but it’s the difference between an actor who is permanently amped up and one who can barely stay awake. There is little nuance to a performance from either of them these days and, particularly in Pacino’s case, the increased exposure and lack of discernment in choosing projects has diminished his stature; he has no compunction about starring opposite Adam Sandler in drag or indulging in bargain basement (extended) stiffy gags. There’s something disappointingly dishevelled about him here, as he gives off a seedy, unkempt, Albert Steptoe vibe. Still, for a guy in his early-70s he remains remarkably vital. And, even given his lost lustre, it remains a small thrill to see him and Walken sharing obvious chemistry even in wholly unremarkable material.

Pacino has a night of freedom before Walken has to put a bullet in his head, so naturally they get up to all sorts of adventures. Unfortunately first-timer Noah Haidle’s script comes up short not only the inventive scenarios front, it also settles on all the most over-used ones. If Walken manages to imbue a sense of melancholy into his every scene, Pacino is called upon to snort prescription meds and swallow half a bottle of Viagra. And visit a brothel. And sort out some local wise guys. Most insensitive and ill considered is their encounter with a gang rape victim who seems remarkably untraumatised (it’s all okay you see, as she gets to take revenge on the rapists’ nuts with a baseball bat).

Although the poster would have you believe this is a triple act, Alan Arkin’s role is that of supporting actor. He’s magnificent, though, and the picture really steps up a gear when he’s riffing with Walken and Pacino. More than the other two, Arkin’s had a great selection of roles in the 21^st century, after not really having much of a profile during the ‘80s and ‘90s.

The supporting cast includes one of those over-used actors as the villain, Mark Margolis (most visible across three seasons of Breaking Bad). He shows up, chews scenery, leaves. Julianne Margulies appears for a couple of minutes as Arkin’s daughter. Fisher Stevens, best known for a playing a slightly dodgy Indian stereotype in Short Circuit, is the director on his sophomore feature. If the cast refer to him to as an actor’s director, it’s a nice way of saying he doesn’t have much stylistic sense about him. If this means the attention is all on the actors, it has the side effect of exposing the script’s deficiencies to the harsh light of day. At its best the affair feels like something of a throwback picture. Unfortunately that also extends to the almost-‘80s movie checklist of larks these guys get mixed up in (washed through a post-Judd Apatow gross-out filter).

I mentally linked this to Last Vegas when both were in production, as both feature a medley of old-timers on a jaunt. Stand Up Guys’ premise is much closer to that of In Bruges, however. Which I’m sure could have done with a dose of Christopher Walken (what movie couldn’t, and Bruges director Martin McDonagh subsequently used to great effect him in Seven Psychopaths), but was pretty much perfect. Stand Up Guys is a long way from greatness, and has the temerity to shamelessly rip off They Live’s classic line of dialogue (several times). But, if you have fairly low expectations, you could do worse than seeing this trio struggle valiantly to make a silk purse out of a soiled script.

***

You were this amazing occidental samurai.

Ricochet (1991) (SPOILERS) You have to wonder at Denzel Washington’s agent at this point in the actor’s career. He’d recently won his first Oscar for Glory , yet followed it with less-than-glorious heart-transplant ghost comedy Heart Condition (Bob Hoskins’ racist cop receives Washington’s dead lawyer’s ticker; a recipe for hijinks!) Not long after, he dipped his tentative toe in the action arena with this Joel Silver production; Denzel has made his share of action fare since, of course, most of it serviceable if unremarkable, but none of it comes near to delivering the schlocky excesses of Ricochet , a movie at once ingenious and risible in its plot permutations, performances and production profligacy.

He’ll regret it to his dying day, if ever he lives that long.

The Quiet Man (1952) (SPOILERS) The John Wayne & John Ford film for those who don’t like John Wayne & John Ford films? The Quiet Man takes its cues from Ford’s earlier How Green Was My Valley in terms of, well less Anglophile and Hibernophile and Cambrophile nostalgia respectively for past times, climes and heritage, as Wayne’s pugilist returns to his family seat and stirs up a hot bed of emotions, not least with Maureen O’Hara’s red-headed hothead. The result is a very likeable movie, for all its inculcated Oirishness and studied eccentricity.

No one can be told what the Matrix is. You have to see it for yourself.

The Matrix (1999) (SPOILERS) Twenty years on, and the articles are on the defining nature of The Matrix are piling up, most of them touching on how its world has become a reality, or maybe always was one. At the time, its premise was engaging enough, but it was the sum total of the package that cast a spell – the bullet time, the fashions, the soundtrack, the comic book-as-live-action framing and styling – not to mention it being probably the first movie to embrace and reflect the burgeoning Internet ( Hackers doesn’t really count), and subsequently to really ride the crest of the DVD boom wave. And now? Now it’s still really, really good.

Well, something’s broke on your daddy’s spaceship.

Apollo 13 (1995) (SPOILERS) The NASA propaganda movie to end all NASA propaganda movies. Their original conception of the perilous Apollo 13 mission deserves due credit in itself; what better way to bolster waning interest in slightly naff perambulations around a TV studio than to manufacture a crisis event, one emphasising the absurd fragility of the alleged non-terrestrial excursions and the indomitable force that is “science” in achieving them? Apollo 13 the lunar mission was tailor made for Apollo 13 the movie version – make believe the make-believe – and who could have been better to lead this fantasy ride than Guantanamo Hanks at his all-American popularity peak?

Haven’t you ever heard of the healing power of laughter?

Batman (1989) (SPOILERS) There’s Jaws , there’s Star Wars , and then there’s Batman in terms of defining the modern blockbuster. Jaws ’ success was so profound, it changed the way movies were made and marketed. Batman’s marketing was so profound, it changed the way tentpoles would be perceived: as cash cows. Disney tried to reproduce the effect the following year with Dick Tracy , to markedly less enthusiastic response. None of this places Batman in the company of Jaws as a classic movie sold well, far from it. It just so happened to hit the spot. As Tim Burton put it, it was “ more of a cultural phenomenon than a great movie ”. It’s difficult to disagree with his verdict that the finished product (for that is what it is) is “ mainly boring ”. Now, of course, the Burton bat has been usurped by the Nolan incarnation (and soon the Snyder). They have some things in common. Both take the character seriously and favour a sombre tone, which was much more of shock to the

You think a monkey knows he’s sitting on top of a rocket that might explode?

The Right Stuff (1983) (SPOILERS) While it certainly more than fulfils the function of a NASA-propaganda picture – as in, it affirms the legitimacy of their activities – The Right Stuff escapes the designation of rote testament reserved for Ron Howard’s later Apollo 13 . Partly because it has such a distinctive personality and attitude. Partly too because of the way it has found its through line, which isn’t so much the “wow” of the Space Race and those picked to be a part of it as it is the personification of that titular quality in someone who wasn’t even in the Mercury programme: Chuck Yaeger (Sam Shephard). I was captivated by The Right Stuff when I first saw it, and even now, with the benefit of knowing-NASA-better – not that the movie is exactly extolling its virtues from the rooftops anyway – I consider it something of a masterpiece, an interrogation of legends that both builds them and tears them down. The latter aspect doubtless not NASA approved.

Drank the red. Good for you.

Morbius (2022) (SPOILERS) Generic isn’t necessarily a slur. Not if, by implication, it’s suggestive of the kind of movie made twenty years ago, when the alternative is the kind of super-woke content Disney currently prioritises. Unfortunately, after a reasonable first hour, Morbius descends so resignedly into such unmoderated formula that you’re left with a too-clear image of Sony’s Spider-Verse when it lacks a larger-than-life performer (Tom Hardy, for example) at the centre of any given vehicle.

He doesn’t want to lead you. He just wants you to follow.

Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore (2022) (SPOILERS) The general failing of the prequel concept is a fairly self-evident one; it’s spurred by the desire to cash in, rather than to tell a story. This is why so few prequels, in any form, are worth the viewer/reader/listener’s time, in and of themselves. At best, they tend to be something of a well-rehearsed fait accompli. In the movie medium, even when there is material that withstands closer inspection (the Star Wars prequels; The Hobbit , if you like), the execution ends up botched. With Fantastic Beasts , there was never a whiff of such lofty purpose, and each subsequent sequel to the first prequel has succeeded only in drawing attention to its prosaic function: keeping franchise flag flying, even at half-mast. Hence Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore , belatedly arriving after twice the envisaged gap between instalments and course-correcting none of the problems present in The Crimes of Grindelwald .

So, you’re telling me that NASA is going to kill the President of the United States with an earthquake?

Conspiracy Theory (1997) (SPOILERS) Mel Gibson’s official rehabilitation occurred with the announcement of 2016’s Oscar nominations, when Hacksaw Ridge garnered six nods, including Mel as director. Obviously, many refuse to be persuaded that there’s any legitimate atonement for the things someone says. They probably weren’t even convinced by Mel’s appearance in Daddy’s Home 2 , an act of abject obeisance if ever there was one. In other circles, though, Gibbo, or Mad Mel, is venerated as a saviour unsullied by the depraved Hollywood machine, one of the brave few who would not allow them to take his freedom. Or at least, his values. Of course, that’s frequently based on alleged comments he made, ones it’s highly likely he didn’t. But doesn’t that rather appeal to the premise of his 23-year-old star vehicle Conspiracy Theory , in which “ A good conspiracy theory is an unproveable one ”?

I have done some desperate, foolish things come 3 o'clock in the morning.

Sea of Love (1989) (SPOILERS) It’s difficult to imagine Sea of Love starring Dustin Hoffman, for whom Richard Price wrote the screenplay but who bowed out over requests for multiple rewrites. Perhaps Hoffman secretly recognised what most of us don’t need telling; there’s no way he fits into an erotic thriller (I’m not sure I’d even buy him as a cop). Although, he would doubtless have had fun essaying the investigative side, involving a succession of dates on the New York singles scene as a means to ensnare a killer. Al Pacino, on the other hand, has just the necessary seedy, threadbare, desperate quality, and he’s a powerhouse in a movie that, without its performances (Ellen Barkin and John Goodman may also take bows), would be a mostly pedestrian and unremarkable entry in the then burgeoning serial killer genre. Well, I say unremarkable. The rightly most-remarked-upon aspect of the murder mystery side is how unsatisfyingly it’s resolved. Sea of Love is so scant of r

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